Flexibus
by Fuzzle-Foot
Summary: Sometimes life is what you believe it to be.


Hey! I'm fuzzle-foot and a notorious lurker. I've decided to be brave and post my first South park fanfic! Any support from any of you _excellent_ writers (they say sucking up doesn't get you anywhere) would be fantastic.

Now for legal stuff: **I don't own anything, except myself and my posessions... Anything else belongs to other poeple other than me.**

The title _Flexibus_ has nothing to do with the story, it's just the name of the night time busses.

Finally, this fic is dedicated to _Me-Ladie_ who writes exceptionally well and helped me with my french, any additional mistakes are mine. Read her stuff and go wow!

* * *

**Flexibus**

Blood, sweat, tears death.

**Such is life**

Words that Christophe always thought held true, though spoken by a holy man. Or so he reckond. Or myabe he was misquoting the person, but really, he didn't care.

**Either way life is worthless**

Christophe couldn't be bothered with life, he had survived death once, nothing else mattered much. He knew when the time would come around again, he would kick death in the balls, and stand their laughing as he withered on the ground. He couldn't wait for that moment.

_Christophe!_

A name which meant a day of loathing, of himself or his mother. Either way he didn't care. After all, what could she possible do.

_Je viens la mère!_

French, how he loathed it. The language of romance was sickening, purposeless. Another way to woo a girl into a quick fuck, that's all it was good for.

**Whores and sluts, all have their fun.**

**But run crying home when their time is done.**

Whimsical lines and poetry, the crap that spewed out of the modern day music. Christophe was far more happy with the older stylings of David Bowie and Pink Floyd, classic and fiery. Though the 'heavy metal' of the world was worth listening to, some of the times.

_Comment êtes-vous ce Christophe de matin?_

His mother, believer in God, holder of faith. If God existed, why didn't he help them when they needed it? Why did he take the man who provided for him.

**Death to the wicked and unholy**

Christophe didn't care, he knew he was going to hell. He had been there before, and didn't really care. Nothing bad had happened, he met some interesting people. When he'd got back, nothing, everyone had abandoned him and he was alone.

**We'll get you home**

Lies, all lies. He hated the red headed boy for lying to him, but not as much as he hated the fat boy. He would be happy if he never saw them again, but Christophe was never happy.

* * *

_Où les toilettes sont?_

A new school, a new day. Christophehated being transfered, it's not his fault that the boys at other schools don't realsie how to use a gun. And if they shoot their faces in, why is he the one being sent to Juvi?

_Scuse me?_

Stupid people, not knowing how to speak French. Why should he adapt to them, he was better than them after all. And the stupid fat boy was getting on his nerves.

_Vous regarder le bâtard, où les toilettes sont?_

The fat fuck just stood there, trying to scratch his head. But he was so fat his arms couldn't reah it, only his chin. Christophe just glared, how could a boy as stupid as this commited a crime.

**A souls beauty is reflected inside out**

Christophe stared at the fat boy, mesmerised by the rolls of pudge that surrounded his neck. It was disgusting, the boy was disgusting.

_Let me handle this Cartman. Les toilettes sont la deuxième porte votre partir._

A flash of red and green. The smell of cinnamon and somthing unique. The perfect French accent.

_Merci_

And then he was gone, as quick as he came. Leaving Christophe to follow his directions and find his own way. He knew he would never see the boy again.

* * *

Skin against skin. Sweating, moaning, groaning. The bliss of it all.

_Oui, oui! Plus rapide! Plus dur!_

Inside, outside, everywhere. The frcition they caused, the sparks they ignited. They reached the highest bliss! Then it faded, leaving them breathless and sticky.

**An explonsion of the heart and mind.**

Christophe wrapped his arms around the red-head, inhailing his cinnamon scent. Feathery kisses were planted, secret smiles shared. A final searing kiss before the boy had to leave.

_Quand je vous verrai encore?_

Christphe heard the boy, and turned smiling at him. He stood up, not caring if his bunk mate came in. Kissed the smaller boy.

"_Dans votre Kyle de rêves_," He murmured, resting his head against the red head boys. "_Dans votre de rêves_."

* * *

**French**

_Je viens la mère! _- Coming mother!

_Comment êtes-vous ce Christophe de matin?_ - How are you this morning Christophe?

_Où les toilettes sont?_ _- _Where are the Toilets?

_Vous regarder le bâtard, où les toilettes sont?_ -Look you bastard, where are the toilets

_Les toilettes sont la deuxième porte votre partir._ - The toilets are the second door to your left.

_Oui, oui! Plus rapide! Plus dur! _- Yes, yes! Faster! Harder!

_Dans votre Kyle de rêves_ - In your dreams Kyle

_Dans votre de rêves_- In your dreams

* * *

See the button down there? Review! 


End file.
